The Lady Is a Trump

I go to Coney, the beach is divine
I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine
I follow Winchell, and read every line
That’s why the lady is a tramp
I love a prized fight, that isn’t a fake
I love the rowing on Central Park lake
I go to opera, and stay wide awake
That’s why the lady is a tramp
I love the free, fresh wind in my hair
Life without care
I’m broke, it’s oak
For Frank Sinatra I whistle and stand
That’s why the lady is a tramp
I love the free, fresh wind in my hair
Life without care
I’m broke, it’s oak
Hate Calfornia it’s cold and it’s damp
That’s why the lady is a tramp